


To Steal Away Their Brains

by adreadfulidea



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Kink Meme, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreadfulidea/pseuds/adreadfulidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which booze gets in the way of work and Ginsberg says (and gets) more than he intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Steal Away Their Brains

**Author's Note:**

> For the kinkmeme (http://madmenkinkmeme.livejournal.com/). The prompt: "Stan and Ginsberg crash at Peggy's creepy apartment for a work-related all-nighter when the office is being fumigated. Chinese food, booze, and sarcasm. (Somehow, an awkward threesome happens, in which Stan and Peggy take Ginsberg's virginity.)"

“Sorry about the mess,” was the first thing Peggy said when she opened the door. She waved a hand apologetically at the living room behind her, but it wasn’t so bad as far as Ginsberg could see. Better than his place, at least.

It was also much bigger, and he told her as much as soon as he got inside. “Compared to this I live in a closet - you really own this whole thing, huh?”

She smiled, but looked a little embarrassed too. “The whole building, actually.”

“Those were your tenants out in the hall?”

“Why, what were they doing?” She held up a hand as soon as he tried to answer. “Forget I said anything. I really don’t want to know.”

He shrugged. “If you say so, but I think somebody should tell those kids to knock it off with the matches.”

Her startled face was so great that he blew the whole thing by grinning, and she hit him on the arm. She hit pretty hard for somebody with puny hands and wincing theatrically got him no sympathy. Maybe she had brothers or something.

Seeing the inside of someone’s apartment was always fascinating, like getting a little peek inside their head. He wanted to look around, go through her books and her records, see what was inside her fridge. But that was inappropriate, probably, so he headed for the sofa.

Peggy’s big orange tomcat wasted no time jumping into his lap when he sat down. “At least somebody around here knows how to treat a guest,” he said, scratching behind the cat’s ears and liking his big raspy purr.

Peggy wrinkled her nose. “He sheds.”

“What do you call him?”

“Cat.”

“That’s not a name, Peggy. It’s a species. How would you like it if I called you “girl” all the time?”

“I’d fire you?”

“Nah, you’d miss me too much. Wouldn’t she?” he asked the cat, who was settling down now, curling into a ball.

He got an eyeroll for that but she also got him a beer from the kitchen. “Stan went to get food. Hope you’re in the mood for Chinese.”

“Just like Mom used to make.” It wasn’t as if he was actually complaining. He and his Pop pretty much lived off of sandwiches.

They set up a workspace in the middle of the floor but didn’t get very far into it before Stan was back, snow on his shoulders and a couple of plastic bags in his hands. Peggy bounced up off the floor and kissed him when he came in.

He was the only one who knew about them, at the office at least. Peggy wanted to keep things as quiet as she could - God knew nobody wanted a repeat of the Chaough situation. But they’d told him, which was kind of nice. It was nice, that the three of them had a secret.

Sometimes he had to remind himself not to stare, though.

“Find a way to bring Avon out of Grandma’s bathroom and into the modern world yet ?”

“At least they don’t want a nostalgia campaign,” Peggy grumped, pulling some plates out of a cupboard.

“Heinz?” Ginsberg asked flatly.

“Do you dream of baked beans?” Stan added.

Peggy ignored them both. “I just don’t understand companies that hire us to do the same ad they’ve been doing for the last ten years. They need to move for -.”

Ginsberg and Stan waited.

“Was there as second half to that sentence?” asked Stan finally.

‘Nevermind. It’s not important.” Her mood seemed to have shifted, somehow. Whatever it was, she shook it off. “And my ideas were perfect. Raymond Geiger has no taste.”

Stan looked out the window at the snow piling up. “Sorry, Ginzo, but it looks like you might be stuck here overnight. And the couch isn’t a pull-out.”

At least there was somewhere to sleep, which was a distinct edge over the office even if it hadn’t been filled with pesticides at the moment.

They ate sitting cross legged on the floor, tossing ideas for Avon back and forth. They were jumping the gun on Avon a little - it hadn’t been decided if they were going to do TV yet - but Peggy was eager to get started. It was also Joan’s account. Ginsberg didn’t know Joan personally but he’d seen the way terrified secretaries would scatter in her wake like Moses parting the red sea; if she wanted something done it better get done.

 

Two hours later and they were off topic completely. Ginsberg was lying on his back, Stan’s sketches scattered around him, looking up at the ceiling. There was a water stain on it that looked sort of like an elephant with short trunk.

“I almost called him Tiger,” Peggy said, “but that’s too obvious.”

“More obvious than ‘Cat’ ?” asked Ginsberg, but no one paid any attention.

“You could call him Sunkist,” Stan said mildly, then fell backwards laughing when Peggy glared at him.

“Now I’m going to name him Tropicana,” she muttered.

“Man o’ War,” Ginsberg decided.

They looked at each other and then at him, identical lines of confusion furrowing their foreheads.

“You know,” he said, rolling over onto his side, “because they called him Big Red.”

“We’ll put some names into a hat,” Peggy said, going into the kitchen for some more provisions, “maybe tomorrow.”

She had a bottle of scotch and three glasses in her arms when she came back.

“Uh,” he said, “just a little for me. I’m getting past my limit already.”

The scotch burned going down. He was pretty drunk. Not an embarrassment to himself or others just yet, but feeling pretty loose. Loose enough to notice how pretty Peggy looked right now, in bare feet with her hair all mussed. How pretty she and Stan looked together, when she sat back down and leaned her head on his shoulder.

Yeah, he needed to slow down.

“So Ginzo,” Stan asked, eyes bright with mischief, “how goes it with the lovely Miss Farber?”

Goddamn it, Stan. “It doesn’t, and now I deeply regret ever telling you about that.”

“It’s okay,” Peggy piped up, “I already know!”

“Stan,” muttered Ginsberg under his breath, even though Peggy was right there and could hear every word, “why does she know about that?”

“Sorry, man. I didn’t know you were that bothered by it.” Stan tapped his foot lightly against Ginsberg’s ankle, and he recognized it for the apology it was. He was still kind of pissed off, though.

“Oh, it’s happened to everyone,” said Peggy soothingly, “my mother set me up with a truck driver - it was horrible.”

“At least she warned you first.”

“I lost my virginity thanks to a set up,” Stan announced with intolerable smugness.

“Mom and Dad must have been so proud,” Ginsberg said.

“My Aunt Theresa set me up with the luscious Rose D’Angelo. I supposed to be a nice boy and look out for her during her summer staying with her cousins. We spent most of the time in the backseat of my car instead.”

Peggy smiled and swallowed down the rest of her drink. “High school boyfriend, behind the gymnasium.”

“In public, very bold choice Miss Olsen,” said Stan, impressed. She did look pretty proud of herself.

Then they turned to him. And waited, expectantly.

“What?”

“We shared with the class. Your turn.” Stan toasted him, the insufferable bastard.

There was nothing for it - he could feel the blush starting already, heating up his cheeks, unstoppable. He was sure they could both see it even in the dimly lit apartment.

He set his glass on the ground and kept his eyes fixed on it so he wouldn’t have to see them laughing at him. “I got nothing.”

“So, you -” Peggy started, but he interrupted her.

“Have never had sex, yes, Peggy. That would be exactly it.” He got to his feet, filled with jittery energy and the need to move. “This topic is haunting me lately. It’s not as easy as everyone makes it out to be! How the hell does anyone ever get together in the first place? I’m bad with people - I know that. The only people I see on a regular basis are all in this room - what am I supposed to do, crawl into bed with you two?”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck.

“Michael -” Peggy said, eyes huge.

“I have to use the bathroom!” he blurted out, panicked, and fled.

In the bathroom he splashed some cold water on his face and wondered if he could just quickly drown himself and never have to deal with any of this again. Maybe he could pass it off as a joke. Maybe they were drunk enough that they’d just forget about it.

Or maybe he was screwed. It was going to be hell trying to get home tonight. He was never going to be able to look either of them in the eye ever again.

There was a knock at the door, and Stan’s voice just following it. “You okay in there?”

He opened the door only because he couldn’t stay in there forever. Stan was standing there being terribly sympathetic, and Peggy was right behind him looking as determined as she ever did.

“Look-” Ginsberg said, and that was all he said because at that moment Peggy stepped forward, put her hands in his hair and kissed him on the mouth.

 

The kiss was brief but charged, and he gasped a little when she pulled back. “Jesus, Peggy.”

She smiled, self satisfied, and came back again. Deeper and dirtier this time - she bit him a little, and he jumped. “Sorry,” she said, swiping her thumb over his mouth.

Stan put his hands on Ginsberg’s shoulder blades and steered him gently away from the doorway. “As much fun as this is to watch, kids, how about we take it somewhere more comfortable?”

“We don’t have to - this only goes as far as you want it to,” Peggy told Ginsberg very seriously. But he did want this, he did - whatever this was.

“Bedroom?” he croaked, voice breaking with nerves.

He paused when he got there, waiting for some kind of signal - he didn’t know what.

“I could carry you across the threshold if you wanted,” Stan said from behind him.

Bastard. That got him moving again.

Peggy was already stripping off, undoing her bra and kicking off her jeans, creamy skin just everywhere. He looked at his feet, naturally.

“Michael,” said Peggy, exasperated, “You’re allowed to look.”

So he did, throat dry. She was naked, standing with her hands on her hips and her head tilted a little to the side. “That’s better. Come over here.”

She pulled his shirt off while Stan went for his pants, then his underwear. He had to fight the urge to cover himself, had to get used to standing there bare, hard and shivering.

“Shhh,” Peggy kissed him soft and then filthy while Stan rubbed his back. Then she pulled back and turned him around so Stan could take a turn, and it was good, really good, even if the beard took a little getting used to.

They were at that for a while, Stan tugging Ginsberg’s hair lightly and kissing him until both his scalp and mouth felt a little sore. Peggy got their attention by clearing her throat. She was sitting on the end of the bed with her chin in her hands.

She patted the bed next to her. “Lay down, Michael.”

So he did, with Stan next him, and she straddled him. He hissed and arched up off the bed, overwhelmed, and Stan pushed him back down with a careful hand on his chest. “Relax, okay? She knows what she’s doing.”

“Are you ready for this?” Peggy asked.

He nodded, and she moved - God, she moved, sliding down him in one long wet stretch. He whined high in his throat and grabbed her hips.

“Yes, yes, stay just like that,” she gasped, and then rose up and slid back down again, faster this time.

“Oh, fuck -”

“Good, you’re doing good -”

She rode him until sparks were going off behind his eyes, until he couldn’t control the desperate sounds he was making. Stan whispered dirty things in his ear, showed him how to rub her off, and just as she was clenching around him so sweet and crying out, Stan leaned in further and said:

“You know, your face is bright red right now.”

“I hate you,” Ginsberg choked out, and came so hard his legs shook.

 

Ginsberg woke up a little groggy but comfortable in spite of the chill he could feel seeping in from the window. The unfamiliar room was a surprise. The sensation of bare skin against his was a much bigger surprise.

It took him a minute to recall the previous night in vivid and unbelievable detail. That was Peggy touching him, and Stan on the other side of her. They were talking quietly and he wasn’t sure what to do. Should he let them know that he was awake? Was it rude to listen in?

“Let him sleep,” Stan was saying, “I think we wore him out.”

“We never got anything done on Avon. I wonder if he’d stay another night?”

“I think you’re going to need a bigger bed.”

Some indescribable feeling shot through Ginsberg, something beautiful and wholly unexpected. It was a warmth spreading through him that seemed centered in his chest, a tingling in his palms that wasn’t quite fear. He lay watching the pink morning sky outside, afraid that anything he said or did would cause that warmth to leach away. He didn’t know what was going to happen next but he knew this - if he turned and reached for them, right now, they would not turn him away.


End file.
